Close Your Eyes: A Horror Story Collection

by Alec John Johnson

  She wasn't kidding. When we got there I was taken aback. I thought neighborhoods like this only existed in fictional television sitcoms. The first thing I noticed was the turn into the neighborhood. As you turn in you are greeted with a wall of Cottonwood Poplar trees on both sides of the road. The trees were pruned up to create a sort of tunnel as you drove through the main road in the neighborhood. The shadows of the trees swayed back and forth and if you gazed up at the canopy you could see the numerous leaves shimmering in the wind.

  Smaller roads split out from the main going left and right into neat rows of houses on either side. Each yard seemed like it was expertly manicured. The grass had that darkish green color that it gets right after a spring rain, and tried as I could, I couldn't find any weeds. There was no crab grass, no dandelions, or anything of the sort. The sound of children playing and running back and forth between houses was everywhere. There were bikes, scooters, basketballs, soccer balls, and all manners of toys strewn across various yards. Oh, and did I mention the ice cream truck meandering down the roads with its ever so familiar music lightly playing? It was the kind of place you could live your whole life without thinking twice. If this wasn't home then what was? We didn't need to see the house; we were sold then and there.

  Soon after we purchased our house we decided to start trying for a family. After all that was the next logical step and I couldn't wait to have a little boy or girl. Someone I could really bond with, someone who would not judge me, someone who was completely innocent. We were lucky. After only a few months of trying we found out she was pregnant. I was elated! I was finally going to have my family of my dreams.

  Her pregnancy seemed to be the longest nine months of my life. I just wanted our baby to be here. I wanted to be a father, and I wanted to be a father now. I did everything I could to support my wife while she was pregnant. There were foot rubs, late night grocery shopping, special request, you name it. Whatever she needed I took care of and I didn't mind or complain at all. The doctor's appointments were some of the most exciting and nerve racking parts of the pregnancy. Is our baby ok? Can we find the heartbeat? Is everything going according to plan? If not, what do we need to do? I was terrified that they would find something wrong.

  Luckily, everything went fine. She went into labor just a few days before her due date and it was on a Saturday afternoon, thankfully. I was there with her and I rushed her to the nearest hospital I could find which just happened to be the one that she worked at. I was as calm as could be on the outside but was screaming on the inside as she was wheeled into the delivery room. Our baby was coming, and it was coming tonight! Her labor really wasn't that long compared to other pregnancies from what the nurses told us. After a few very long hours I was holding our newborn baby girl in my arms.

  We had a daughter! I can't even begin to describe the feeling of holding your own. It is truly awe inspiring. I am not a religious man but there are times like this where it really makes you think that there is something out there. That being said, the awe starts to wear out when you are up at all hours with the baby and fighting over whose turn it is to take the baby. The first year can be rough.

  As our oldest grew and eventually moved out of the baby stage into a toddler we decided to start trying for number two. I won't bore you with too many details but everything went as planned and a year later we had another baby girl. We had two beautiful girls and I finally felt like my family was complete.

  Life was good, but busy. If you've ever had newborns or young kids you know exactly what I mean. There is never enough time in the day; work, play, sleep (or lack of sleep), and repeat. The cycle repeated over and over again day after day night after night. Don't get me wrong, this was great. I finally had my family and it was all worth it. Before I knew it time began to fly by.

  I didn't make a crazy amount of money but it did allow for my wife to stay home with the girls. We were both against daycare and thought it a better decision to have her stay at home and work when she could. Sure we didn't have new things, new phones, TVs, or whatever; but as cliché as it sounds, we had each other and that's all that mattered.

  Before I knew it my oldest daughter was six and my youngest four. Nothing beat coming home to them after a long day of work and seeing their faces. If you ever had kids you'll know that feeling when you walk in the door after being gone all day. They light up as you come through the garage door and yell 'Daddy's here,' as they run to you for a big hug. There was nothing else in the world like it. I would spend the whole night talking and playing with them and finding out all about their day. What was the best part? Did you make any friends? How was school? Were you nice to your sister?

  Life was good, or as good as it could be. Everybody always wants more; more money, more time, more sex, whatever. I wasn't complaining though. This was my dream. This was everything I wanted out of life, to have a family. My life was full and my purpose fulfilled.

  Chapter 3

  I lost them all. I lost everything. There was no crime, no deviation from the norm, and no bad guys. Nothing like that happened. You know what did happen? It was the simplest of things, a car accident. That's it. A simple car accident took them from me. You know what I was doing? I was working. I didn't even know about it until that evening. They were dead for hours and I didn't even know about it. They had left this world entirely and I was working away like nothing happened. I'll never forgive myself for that. I weep about it.

  If anyone was at fault it was me. I didn't check the damn tires. The front passenger side tire blew out due to overuse. I should have checked the tires, but I didn't. I am not sure exactly what happened next but when the tire went out it caused the car to flip, and flip, and flip again. It rolled across the lanes of the road and it eventually stopped and landed right in the middle of the westbound lanes of the interstate. BAM. BAM. There were multiple collisions. There was nothing left except fragments; fragments of the car, fragments of them, fragments of my life. They were going to a dance recital and now they were gone. But hey, five hundred and thirty-five automobile fatalities occur in the United States due to tire blowouts. Those numbers have to come from somewhere and now I know where. I went from having a family to having a statistic.

  They're gone, as was my way of life. What the hell do I have to live for now? What am I even working for? I didn't know what to do or who to even talk to. I had no one. I had nothing. Work gave me a week off even though I practically begged to stay. I couldn't bear to be alone, completely alone. At least at work there are people. There are conversations. There is a sense of normalcy. At home there is just emptiness, blackness, and blankness.

  Unfortunately, I took the time off. I arranged the funerals, burials, and everything else on auto-pilot. I don't remember any of it and couldn't recollect it if I wanted too. After those 'chores' were done I just waited. I waited until it was time to go back to work. Most of my time was spent sitting on my living room couch staring at the mess of toys still scattered about all over the carpet; dolls here, stuffed animals there, pile of books in the corner. I wasn't thinking about anything or anyone. I was just staring in a daze, trying not to think at all, trying not to think about them.

  I didn't bother telling my parents about the accident. It just didn't seem necessary. I doubt they would have cared anyways. I lost track of my father about ten years ago. Last I knew he was somewhere in Florida drifting between towns and bars looking for the next drink. I couldn't tell you how he ended up in Florida. My mother actually lived only about sixty miles from Carolsburg. She would have been heartbroken about the news but only because she had lost her grandchildren. She acted like she loved them, but in reality, she had only seen the kids twice and both times she was in an out of there like a summer storm.

  I kept my wife's phone active. I even switched the sim card over to a new phone as hers was destroyed in the accident. I had to hear her voice. I called it at least twice a day. Every time I would hear her voice answer the call I would get a tinge of excitement on
ly to have the terrifying realization wash over me again and again. I was torturing myself, yet I couldn't stop. I was never going to see her. I was never going to find someone like her again. She was gone. My daughters were gone. My family was gone. It was all gone.

  --

  Surprisingly, when I came back to work I was able to provide full concentration, almost more so than I had before. I felt that if I didn't work, and work hard, I would be left with my own thoughts, and I didn't like the sound of that, not one bit. Co-Workers offered their condolences and all of that shit and I just nodded and gave them a slight smile. Everything was fake and artificial. I had to put on a good show. I worked long hours, as long as I physically could, sometimes twelve to fourteen hour days.

  Regardless of how long I worked I could never escape the fact that when I came home there was nothing. My wife's clothes were still in the closet, some on the floor, and some in the hamper against the wall next to the dresser. My daughter's rooms were still in the same condition as before with unmade beds, and toys strewn about the floor. The walls were still pink, the posters were still up, the toys still had batteries in them. The living room was full of random toys and games. Nothing had changed except their presence. As much as I tried to preserve the environment it just wasn't the same. The emptiness was consuming me.

  I dreamt about them every night, without fail. My dream would begin with me pulling in my driveway after a long day's work. It was black as coal outside the house. The only things visible were the street lamps and my house. My house was illuminated. The front porch light was on, but that was not all. The living room light was on, bedroom lights were all on, and the kitchen lights were on. This house was lived in, and the family was waiting for their daddy.

  I parked the car, shut off the engine, and made my way towards the front door with a big smile across my face. Upon entering the house, the girls would sprint their way over to greet me. I'd crouch down to receive their flying hugs, and half the time the force of them jumping into my arms sent me backwards right into the door. We'd end up in a pile on the floor hugging and laughing together. When I could eventually stand again I'd say hello to my wife and then everyone would gather around for a nice family dinner.

  These dreams were perfect. It was a replay of my life before the accident. They took all of the best moments of my life and smashed them into one extravagant dream. The problem was that with every day that passed the dream's quality lessened. I honestly don't know how to describe it other than the colors and the sharpness were reduced. At first the dream's colors were as bright and vibrant than flowers on a spring day. But now, now when I had this dream the colors reflected that of a cold November where the trees and plants had died off before the harsh winter had arrived. That's what was happening to my dreams, they were dying off.

  I did everything I could to salvage the dream. Before drifting off to sleep I'd reminisce, stare at old pictures, and watch family videos. Anything I could do to brighten the dream. Nothing worked. I was losing my family all over again, but this time in an agonizing slow and deliberate manner.

  In the past whenever I was stressed out from work or some other trivial matter I would drink. It was nothing crazy but it was enough to take the edge off and calm me down. Come home and have a shot of Jack to calm the nerves. Now, it seemed that nothing took the edge off, nothing shut my mind down. I tried a few shots of liquor and nothing. I tried more, and more, and even more. The only thing I got was a hangover. There was no relief. It got to the point that every morning I would take a swig of whiskey just to get me through the day. When I came home I would go through half the bottle trying to numb myself. It worked, partially. I was too intoxicated to really think about anything.

  The only thought that did occur was killing myself. I thought about quite a few times, but I never acted. I'd have to say that I didn't have the guts for it. I'm an awfully passive guy and could never imagine doing that to anyone else, let alone myself. That didn't stop me from thinking of it though. So many ways it could be done; gunshot, hanging, carbon monoxide, pills, wrists, anything to remove the emptiness. At the same time though what would suicide accomplish? As I stated before, I am not a religious man. I do not believe in a heaven or a hell. Try as I might I can't bring myself to believe, it just seems illogical. So, if I was to kill myself nothing would change. I wouldn't get to see them again. I would just cease to exist as well. Maybe that was for the better? Even if there was a Heaven I believe you automatically get excluded from the 'Heaven Club,' if you kill yourself.

  On one specifically alcohol fueled coma I woke up in the dead of the night to see my daughters a few feet in front of me just staring at me. It was them, but it wasn't them. They were wearing their clothes from the last time I saw them but their skin was as pale as could be and their hair was a ghastly gray mixed with solid black. All color was gone from their hair, face, and skin. They looked as white and colorless as a fresh sheet of paper. I tried talking to them but my mouth wouldn't work. I tried hugging them but I was paralyzed and glued to the couch. They just stared at me. My oldest would occasionally blink, but my youngest did not break her gaze. Was I dreaming? Was this the alcohol talking? Could this be real? Were these their ghosts?

  After what seemed like forever my oldest opened her mouth as if to say something but nothing came out. Just silence. This had to be a dream. I tried going back to sleep. I closed my eyes and tried taking my mind off of them. That was when I felt it, a cold palm. A cold palm had rested on my arm. I opened my eyes to see my youngest inches away from my face with an emotionless expression. She was squatting on my chest looking down at me. She cocked her head sideways similar to how a dog tilts its head to hear you better. Then just as fast as they arrived they were gone.

  One moment they were there and I blinked and poof they were gone. Was this the alcohol? Did my mind imagine this? Or, did this actually happen? Were they here with me again? I've never been one to believe in ghosts but this seemed real enough. Maybe I was just grasping at straws. Sleep paralysis is a thing. From the stories that I've read not only can it cause paralysis but it can also cause waking dreams. Is that what this was? Was this all in my mind? Was it a waking dream?

  After that episode I decided the alcohol was making me feel worse, and I dumped out the rest of it down the drain. This stuff wasn't helping me cope and wasn't making me numb. It was just making me more depressed than I already was. Not to mention giving me night terrors. I had a feeling that the alcohol played a large part in my suicidal thoughts as well. I wanted to be with my family. It wasn't fair that they were gone and I had to stay on this horrid Earth. The only thing keeping me alive was the thought that if I did kill myself what assurance did I have that I would join my family in the afterlife, or if there was even an afterlife? If I killed myself I kill all memories of myself and of my family. There would be no one left to honor them and to remember them. Once I stopped drinking the suicidal thoughts didn't go away but the voice telling me to kill myself lessened to a light whisper instead of a deafening roar. Before the voice would be bouncing around in my head constantly but now I just hear the suicidal whisper at night when the world is quiet.

  I still felt empty. I still felt lost. I still felt troubled. I missed the family connection. I missed coming home and seeing the lights on. I missed the warm hugs and the laughter. I missed the bedtime stories. I missed the intimacy. I would never have those things again. Other people would, but I wouldn't. Other people would have their families and I wouldn't. I wouldn't. Something had to change.

  Chapter 4

  I really noticed myself watching others a few months ago. It started innocently enough. I'd be at a grocery store watching a family go through the aisles picking out their groceries. Watching them all the while thinking how I wish that was my family. I wish those two little boys were mine, I wish that wife was mine. I wish I had a family again.

  It became addicting. I went out more and more to public places such as grocery stores, retail outlets, or malls. A
nywhere I could see a family. These families gave me a connection. They gave me a belonging. I felt that I could live vicariously through them, that I could be them. It may not make sense to you, but it made perfect sense to me. It allowed my imagination to invent families and to reinvent myself. In my head, for a brief moment I was the family man again. I had a loving wife and loving kids. All was right in the world. Those fleeting few moments were what I was looking for. Watching these families gave me almost a high. And, like any junkie, I would do anything to get my next high.

  It is then I realized that I could see families all around me in my neighborhood. I didn't have to fake going to the grocery store anymore, I could watch all the families I wanted right here. I have no idea why I didn't notice it before. It seemed obvious. I lived in a young neighborhood with all different types of people and families. It was the typical American mid-western suburban neighborhood. There were walking trails, numerous houses, people jogging, kids riding their bicycles in and out of the streets. I began walking around the neighborhood at least once a night. Walking and observing, but as discreetly as I could. If someone glanced my way I would look away. These walks were almost like therapy to me. I could let my imagination run wild while watching families interact with each other. If I saw a father and daughter playing I would imagine myself being that father. I would imagine it was me playing with my girls.